


Bleeding White

by thunderstorm_vs_mavericks



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Explicit Language/Insults, Friendship, Gen, Guti being awesome, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderstorm_vs_mavericks/pseuds/thunderstorm_vs_mavericks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is it. The end of an era. And there is nothing I can do about it. There's nothing left, but a final goodbye.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding White

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: ******This is all fiction. I don't make money with this.  
>   
>  1\. So, today is a special day. Not because it is Halloween, but because it's the blonde devil's birthday. How very fitting, isn't it? :D His birthdays must be one hell of a party. (I'm talking about José/Guti for those of you who don't know :D)  
> 2\. I started this fic the day Iker's transfer became official. I was like really angry and mad and hurt, and I'll admit the insults in the first chapter don't come from Guti alone. But I take comfort in the thought that I was probably not the only one to feel this way. Well, after that I watched Iker crying in the press conference and it totally crushed me. So for a long time I just could't go on writing. But today I just felt like I needed to.  
> As for the insults, they are addressed to Florentino Pérez and although his name isn't mentioned I think it just seemed obvious for every participant.  
> Well, enjoy.

There was not even a second of silence, when Iker finally answered his phone. 

„I will rip the bloody heart out of this hypocritical son of a bitch. Well, that was if he fucking had one. I never thought that the classic „hijo de puta“ wouldn't work anymore, but this would be a fucking compliment for that revolting piece of shit. This pathetic old man is the literal proof that evolution actually can go in reverse. Self-righteous bastard. I am going to rip his ass so wide open that Cris' whole goddamn closet will fit into it.“ 

Iker had known Guti for over 15 years now. Therefore, he had heard a lot of threats and insults coming out of the blondes mouth. All very creatively pictured caused by Guti's vivid imagination and never held back by things other people may call tact or deference. 

But at no time Iker had been able to make out such honesty behind his anger. He had thought by now he probably should know how Guti sounded when he was not only seriously pissed but death-serious about the whole thing. 

But this shouting was reaching a whole new level here. It missed the playful part where you still wanted to wash José's mouth with soap but couldn't keep your mouth corners from twitching. Where the insults sounded almost classy.. or elegant, like there was a melody behind his swearing. 

But now.. now Guti was just being rude. Something that, may believe it or not, did not happen as often as one could think. Because of all things concerning the blue eyed devil he always had this natural appeal to which you just can't put words to.

There indeed had been a few times when Guti had almost lost it. 

The one time Sergio accidentally spilled wine over Guti's new, white - as the heart of a Blanco - Armani shirt. Back then Guti had shouted 30 minutes straight, theatrically waving his arms, describing in any form possible to human language how it was a death sin to desecrate Armani.

Acting like the diva he was it should have been more hilarious than frightening, but not with Guti. Under his Spanish temper even ever smiling Sese had went smaller by the second. 

Then there was the time when entire Spain wondered if José María Gutiérrez Hernández really could be so audaciously insolent to publically call his coach an asshole for taking him out of the game. Well, truth to it, this was one of the nicer things that had left the blond devil's mouth that day. 

There it was, the proof that Iker still owned the ability to smile. It felt like he hadn't done it in a while, which was probably true. His lips were dry and the corners of Iker's mouth were too, making his smile hurt a little more than it should. 

It was an immediate reaction to one of _those_ memories. The ones that when you think of them you smile before you know. But now it became a tired smile, one that showed more of the sadness that was caused by a forced goodbye. Never had Iker thought that all those unique memories he'd made during his years in Madrid could feel like they were withdrawing from him. 

All these memories were floating him now, only to show that there were no more to make. It had made him feel numb ever since the second they told him.  
Told him that his time here was over. That he was no longer of worth. 

Then, Guti's voice shoved itself into the foreground of Iker's awareness. Good thing, because drifting away in those thoughts was something Iker wanted to avoid really badly. 

He had probably missed a lot of really good insults. 

“Don't think for just a second that I will let them actually sell you off to this 3rd class rudimentary remnant of a football club.” 

„Rudimentary?“ Iker kept up his smile, hoping that Guti could hear it through his voice. „I mean it's not Real but don't you think you get a little bit caught up w--“ 

„Exactly, it isn't Real. End of story. San Iker playing somewhere other than Madrid, next year our jerseys are gonna be striped in goddamn blue and red.“ Guti sounded like he was just about to warm up and probably would have continued exasperating about everything that even thought of separating San Iker from Real Madrid.

But Iker was tired, utterly tired. He would miss these moments, simple and lasting. A friend calling... A colleague who was more than only that. Well, a former colleague, but who cared about that? Surrounded by people that were of _matter_ in his life. 

Living where he felt home. Where he could instantly name at least 5 people that he could phone in the middle of the night if something, _anything_ was up.

Iker never really thought about the possibility of _not_ playing in Madrid. He'd never wanted to. He had never wanted something else. And for a long time it seemed like nobody could force him to go. 

In those golden years. Where nothing seemed impossible. Where the world was theirs. 

But now he was sitting on his couch with the walls closing in and thinking, “This is it. The end of an era. And there is nothing I can do about it. There's nothing left, but a final goodbye.”

**Author's Note:**

> If Madridistas agree with Culés then it's either a sign of the apocalypse or something you **really ******should think of. Just sayin'..  
>  https://uk.sports.yahoo.com/news/xavi-slams-real-madrid-over-casillas-exit-094723358--sow.html


End file.
